Elixir
by Paper Castles
Summary: Psyche is the princess of Athos. Eros is the God of Desire. In a meeting of worlds and mortal love, only chaos can ensue.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

In the fading sunlight of the imperial gardens, King Leonidas regarded his three daughters pensively. He had instructed them to attend to him, sending orders that they dress in their finest whilst serenading the bending willows and rustling grasses with their flutes and lyres. Now, as the evening dusk descended, he began the difficult task of his decision.

He leaned backwards beneath the shade of the trees, observing them silently as they calmed his nerves with the sweetened notes of their song. His gaze traveled slowly amongst their delicate faces, fondly remembering them as children. They had played here often among the leaves and flowers, wading barefoot into ponds wreathed with rushes and lilies. Later, as they'd grown older, he'd watched them chase each other through the pillared rose gardens, their laughter echoing against the marble tiled walls which enclosed them.

 _Enclosed_ , King Leonidas mused, considering the word. It was perhaps the best term to describe the childhoods of royal children, idyllic and safe from the toils which plagued the common people. Unlike many of the female nobility, the king had taken care to educate his daughters in matters of the kingdom as well as the subjects of science, math, and history.

When they had excelled in all of these, he had employed his scholars to expand their minds still further, imbuing them with knowledge in topics of literature, languages, and philosophy. Their studies had naturally been accompanied with lessons in the feminine arts and still further classes in music, painting, and poetry. He had watched them advance, maturing in their talents, taking pride in the fruits of his labors. And now after many years they were grown, cultivated women, ready to unite kingdoms and broker peace.

He closed his eyes, recalling the letter read aloud by a servant that very morning. King Odysseus of the eastern isles had requested a bride for his son, the Prince of Kadmos. In exchange, and with the promise of a new trade agreement, Odysseus had vowed to pull back the troops currently threatening King Leonidas's southern border. It was a well known fact that the infamous diamond caves littered this dividing line between kingdoms, their ownership a constant source of friction and warfare. With the unification of a marriage however, the discord between the two royal families would at last be at an end.

And yet, which beloved daughter could he bear to give away?

He opened his eyes, his gaze moving toward Antiope, the eldest. Tall and slender, with the blue, wide-set eyes of her mother Queen Thesia, she embodied the spirit of a forest nymph. Even as a child, she'd been playful, delighting in mischief her sisters dared not try. He watched as she plucked expertly at her lyre strings, her dark tresses loose and curling, the gold circlet upon her forehead glinting faintly in the light.

Beside her sat his second eldest, Hypatia. She played the flute, each finger dancing nimbly through the tune. Her posturing was stiff yet elegant, her nobility indescribably apparent. Hypatia exuded poise, her eloquence with words frequently remarked on by courtiers of the palace. The fine, white-gold strands of her hair were held back by a silver filigree hairnet, their beauty contained much like the reserved nature of her demeanor.

And then there was Psyche, his youngest. Delicate and fay-like, with white shoulders obscured in streaming copper waves, she was the family's ray of sun. Her eyes were a long lashed amber, their glow mirroring the flickering torchlight of palace halls.

King Leonidas shifted uneasily within his seat. There had often been talk amongst the courtiers of the unearthly luminescence which seemed to accompany her. Her beauty was forceful, eerie, and grew only stronger with each passing year. Where her sisters gleamed, Psyche shone, the brightest star in a midnight sky. It was a dangerous quality as King Leonidas had soon realized, often leading the men of his court to worship his daughter rather than the Goddess of beauty herself.

He'd been aghast upon the discovery of these rituals, acting swiftly to appease any perceived insults to the temples of Aphrodite. Then he'd spearheaded a number of ceremonies in honor of the Goddess, banning anyone who dared worship elsewhere. This had been followed with strict orders for his daughters to veil themselves in public, though it was in truth only Psyche's face which required concealment.

While the Goddess had been seemingly placated, the male courtiers had not, and word of Psyche's beauty had persisted, spreading swiftly throughout the kingdom. Gossip over his youngest daughters parentage ran rampant, the most popular of which suggested Zeus as her father and Queen Thesia as his mortal lover. To further infuriate the king, messengers had sent word of the beginnings of temples to be erected in Psyche's honor—activities he had quickly crushed without informing his daughter of either.

It was a delicately perilous thing to maintain favor with the Gods and yet it was a task Psyche had unknowingly made more difficult with each passing year. He was well aware that gifting her as a bride to the Prince of Kadmos would not end her troubles—no, it would almost certainly increase them. It could not be Psyche who he gave in marriage, at least not now. But which daughter did that leave him?

Antiope?

Hypatia?

He rubbed wearily at his brow, saddened by the loss of any one of his children. Still, it had to be done. They were women, and though educated, their roles as such required the guidance and guardianship of men. It was, after all, his very last task as their father—to unite them with husbands in their destined roles as wives and mothers.

 _Hypatia_ , he decided finally.

He gazed sorrowfully at the three young women playing innocently before him.

Hypatia would be the Prince of Kadmos's bride.


	2. I

I

* * *

High in the clouds of Mount Olympus, the Goddess Aphrodite paced the halls of her palace restlessly.

Her hands were clenched, her expression sour, the beauty of her countenance soiled by the obvious signs of her displeasure. She paused, examining her reflection yet again within the surface of her golden mirror. Sheathed in a white stola, her waist encircled in a jeweled silver girdle forged by her husband Hephaestus, she embodied temptation, her aura one of love, lust, and enticement. She was sensuality wrapped in carnality, her innermost desires bared within the seductive glint of her eyes.

The mortals had sung her praises for centuries, calling her by many names—Venus, Acidalia, and Cytherea among them. In the end, it had mattered little what they christened her, for their awe and worship of her power had remained the same. The temples in her honor were shining, lustrous creations, the altars within them spilling over in offerings of incense, myrtle, and jewels.

She was venerated, both by the Gods who surrounded her and the mortals below. It was a gratifying and endlessly pleasurable existence, and one unthreatened by disturbance until now. She whirled on her mirror, as though expecting it to challenge her, and felt the wave of anger rise. A mere human princess had disrupted the ancient flow of adulation, challenging her very role as that of beauty incarnate.

Of course, many such girls had come and gone. They presented a competition which was as brief as it was weak, often spent before the rising sun. But this human, this _child_ , persisted in her impudence.

Perhaps it was the noble blood that made her vain, for only royalty could lay the foundation for the arrogance to challenge a Goddess. If the girl had known any better Aphrodite mused, she'd have maimed herself, or better yet, had the birds pluck the eyes from her skull.

Alas, mortals were perplexingly stupid creatures—occasionally bright, but often misguided, and forever insulting the honor of the Gods.

Aphrodite closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge in the various suitably fearsome punishments she'd devised. There were many, but few as satisfying as the one she currently envisioned. She laughed and her eyes flew open, alight with triumph.

"Bring me Eros," she demanded of her attendees. "Bring me my son."

* * *

Of all her children, Aphrodite had long considered the youngest to be her favorite. No more than a century old, Eros had retained the inquisitiveness of his youth, often engaging in that adventurous trait the humans had labelled _curiosity._

It was well known that in the mortal world, such characteristics often ended in tragedy. How many brazen young men had failed in their attempts to scale Mount Olympus, overpowered by their desires to explore the unknown? She'd seen endless numbers plunge to their deaths and still more always arrived, like a line of stubborn ants.

In a similar fashion, Eros thrived on the thrill of experimentation. He was steadfast in his desire to examine and probe, resolute in his journey to leave no stone unturned. Aphrodite had already extricated him from a number of troublesome situations, most of which had been fueled by the wrath of other Gods wearied by the nature of his tricks. Mortals on the other hand, were not so lucky, and left to their own devices in dealing with the frequently disastrous repercussions of his meddling.

Of course, the span of human lives were of little concern to Aphrodite, barring unique, individual cases which required further involvement. It was the case of one such mortal foremost in her thoughts as Eros entered her chambers, his bag of gold tipped arrows slung haphazardly over one shoulder. She opened her arms to him and he bowed, but did not embrace her. She gave him a petulant smile and allowed her gaze to rove over his form.

That he had inherited her beauty was undeniable, though in him it was tempered to an almost mortal handsomeness disrupted only by the mystical physicality of his wings. They were folded in her presence, but in flight spanned nearly two meters across, their burnished feathers easily distinguished within the clouds.

His height had surpassed hers, even with the elevation of her marble dais, his bronzed left shoulder bared by the style and cut of his linen chiton. It was a common enough garment amongst mortal men, though not one she wholly approved, much preferring the superior gold-lined garments of the Gods. She had discussed the subject with him in the past, but he stubbornly persisted in his fascination for the coarse fabrics woven by mortal hands. In the same vein, he wore sandals made in the animal substance of leather, eschewing the common silver footwear of those living on Olympus. He had laced them in the human style, their strings overlapping his calves in a pattern which tied behind the knee. Aphrodite found his clothing charade foolish, but knew better than to press minor issues when larger ones were at hand.

"Will you not greet me fully?" She demanded of him finally, the rejection in her tone apparent. A half-smile drifted over the handsome planes of his face in response, his sea-gray eyes regarding her warmly.

"Very well," she sighed, acknowledging the silence of his answer. "I have called on you to fulfill a task that I require."

He inclined his dark head toward her interestedly, his eyes intent upon her face.

"There is a mortal woman who threatens me," she continued, "a vain, selfish girl who dares to challenge the worship in my earthly temples. She has led the humans to believe her beauty exceeds mine, and taken devious pains to lead them astray. I wish to punish her."

"What would you have me do?" Eros inquired.

Aphrodite's eyes glowed, the full radiance of her countenance unleashed. "The girls parents are soon to consult an Oracle over the matter of finding her betrothed. You are to direct this Oracle toward the beast I have conjured. Then, you are to pierce her with one of your arrows." Aphrodite smiled. "It will be most satisfying to watch her pledge the allegiance of her love to a creature so grostesque."

"And after the betrothal?" Eros probed.

"On the wedding night, in the throes of their passion, the beast will consume her," Aphrodite replied simply. "I believe it a fitting end for a woman so brazen as to challenge me."

Eros bowed a second time. "Consider it fulfilled."

He gave his mother a curious look. "May I inquire as to the name of the mortal who has committed so grave an offence?"

Aphrodite's eyes hardened. "She is Psyche. Psyche, the princess of Athos."


	3. II

II

* * *

Dusk had encased the palace, the heavens streaked lavender and rose. In the women's quarters, Antiope wove the lotus flowers gently between the braids of Hypatia's golden hair. In the half-light the petals glowed, pearl white and luminous.

"It's lovely," Psyche whispered, touching one reverently.

"You are radiant," Antiope agreed. She leaned forward and tucked an errant curl behind her sister's ear. "Does it please you?"

There was a pause as Hypatia's pale eyes flickered. She gazed pensively at her reflection as she raised one hand, absently fingering the pendant which gleamed at her throat. The stone was cornelian, its umber facets striking against her alabastar skin.

"Yes," she said at last, her low voice wavering.

"What is it?" Antiope questioned.

Hypatia blinked, unable to clear the sheen of tears. Three weeks prior, on the day of her betrothal, she had accepted her fate at the hands of their father graciously and without complaint. Now, on the verge of marriage, the enormity overwhelmed her.

"Are you frightened?" Antiope inquired.

Hypatia shook her head.

"You are certain to please him," Psyche encouraged softly. She placed a gentle hand on Hypatia's shoulder. "You exceed everything he could envision."

"Perhaps," Hypatia answered. She rose and delicately straightened the folds of her gown. For a brief moment, her pained eyes grazed the green hills which lay beyond the window. Then she turned, her expression hardening, and walked silently toward the chamber door.

A breeze stirred the curtains in her wake, its force scattering the lotus petals which had fallen across the tiles. Psyche knelt and gathered them gently into her hands.

Already, their luster had dimmed.

* * *

Outside, within the shadow of the pillared gardens, the bridal procession approached the marble stairs. Beneath the trees, the flute players trilled, their music drifting gently throughout the assembled crowd.

It was a large group that awaited them, and it was into the hush of their expectant throng that Hypatia descended. When she had reached the floral archway the air grew silent. Before her, the royal retinue bowed. Tall, and in possession of a darkly searing gaze, Prince Theocede of Kadmos was an imposing man. His hair was worn short, in the style of a soldier, and his tunic was white and without adornment. He examined his new bride boldly, his black eyes scrutinizing.

Hypatia flushed and glanced away.

"He is stoic, but his eyes betray his pleasure," Antiope whispered. "I believe he loves her."

Psyche watched as Theocede took her sister's hands within his own. His grip was firm, his posture rigid. He appeared impervious to the crowd, his eyes fixated on Hypatia's upturned face.

"They will be blessed," Antiope said.

Psyche was silent, her gaze on the prince. His dark eyes glinted, and for one terse moment, the veil within them parted.

 _Arrogance._

 _Lust._

 _Greed._

Psyche shivered. She had seen the hearts of men before. In Theocede, selfishness was inherent.

And yet, what could be done?

Hypatia was wed, her girlhood severed. Her future lay within the eastern isles.

"Come," Antiope smiled, "let us congratulate them."

Psyche traversed the gardens grievously. Memories of hours spent wading through the lily ponds and the echoed laughter of a thousand joyous evenings assailed her.

Was the fragility of sisterhood no more than a web caught between leaves that vanished in the wind?

Antiope embraced their sister, her eyes shining. "May the Gods bless you greatly," she whispered.

Hypatia smiled as the flowers in her hair swayed, their petals caught within the gentle breeze. "Thank you," she answered. Her eyes turned to Psyche.

"Why do you look at me with such sorrow?" She asked.

"You shall not return," Psyche answered.

"I will."

Psyche glanced at Theocede. Though she longed to share the truth of his spirit, the joy within Hypatia's eyes impeded her words.

"May the Gods bless you greatly," Psyche repeated, embracing her sister softly.

Hypatia reached upwards and gently drew a lotus flower from the braids of her hair. Then she took Psyche's hand and placed it gently within her open palm.

"A parting token," she said, and smiled.


End file.
